The Anarchy, 0-1 entering their home opener against the expansion Daytona Breakers at 7 Saturday night at Colonial High, have been around since 2010. Women's tackle football, though, sprouted roots in Orlando a decade before the Anarchy under the nicknames Mayhem, Lightning and Stars.

No player on those teams pranced around in her lingerie, wore flags or were considered down when touched. The Anarchy, who protect their bodies with shoulder pads and helmets, belong to a national network of teams called the Women's Football Alliance.

"People from different walks of life come together for one goal,'' lineman Elisicia Searcy said.

Chances are, Orange County police detective Christine Shaw never would have met Rebeka Bell, a former four-sport athlete at Mount Dora High who works at a Home Depot in Titusville. Searcy's brother, Leon, played in the NFL, and she is now a teammate of P.J. Jackson, nicknamed "Sweetness'' after Hall of Famer Walter Payton.

How often would a nurse specializing in open-heart surgery, Dianne White, get to help coach a barber like Shalimar Fischetti?

"I tell all my clients about playing,'' Fischetti said. "This has been the most rewarding experience, not only physically but also emotionally and spiritually.

"It's a powerful thing.''

That feeling pervades the Anarchy's 32-woman roster.

"Ever since I was 10 years old, I had heard about women's football, and I told my mom that I was going to play it one day,'' Bell said. "I'm living my dream.''

Pay to play

The Anarchy's players and nine-person coaching staff are not paid to prepare for and play an eight-game regular season that will run through early June.

Sparks estimates each player will pay an average of $500 to cover various costs, such as travel, field rentals and uniforms.

Sponsorships and fundraising are as required as studying game film and learning the playbook, which the Anarchy must do. The team practices twice a week, and attendance can be spotty, depending on other time commitments.

Once kickoff arrives, it's time well-spent.

"It's adrenaline for four quarters,'' said lineman Andrea Snead, a mother of three boys who works at UCF. "When you're tired, you hit whatever is in front of you and sometimes the people behind you. It's magic.

"Family first, then work, then football.''

Each player must sign an insurance waiver and code-of-conduct form. Proof of insurance is mandatory, too. The Anarchy will accept players as young as 18 but don't have an upper age limit.

"There's two players in the league I know of who are older than me,'' said Sparks, the Anarchy's oldest player. "There's a lot of women who are in the league who couldn't play when they were younger.

"Most don't start until they are in their 30s.''

'Football is my life'

Bell, 24, began playing in high school.

When not playing soccer, softball and golf at Mount Dora, she was on the school's junior-varsity football team. Nothing stopped her, not even when she said some boys spit in her water bottle.

"Football is my life,'' said Bell, who played golf at Tusculum College in Tennessee. "I love all my other sports, but I can hit people out here without getting into trouble. When I played soccer, I was getting yellow cards and red cards all the time, because I was too aggressive.

"I'm, like, 90 pounds, soaking wet, but I like hitting people. I might be small, but I'm not afraid. I'm fearless.''

That mindset comes with the risk of injury, and Bell sustained a concussion in the opener, a 56-0 drubbing by the Miami Fury. She should be OK for the game against Daytona.

Other injuries are more severe.

Shaw and Snead have overcome significant knee injuries to return to the field. While going through rehabilitation, neither thought she had played her last game.

"Absolutely not,'' said Snead, almost disdainful of the question. "Why should I? I used to be in band. When I lost my mouthpiece. I just went to get another one.

"I didn't quit.''

Said Sparks: "I've learned the day after a game, I have to stay moving. Your hands are sore. Your legs are sore. Your back is sore. You have spike marks up and down your legs. It's real football.''

Teaching basics

The learning curve can be daunting. Because women often were not coached in football as girls, some fundamental strategy and alignments can be hard to grasp.

The coaches must be skilled in the arts of teaching and patience, but their pupils are attentive.

"I've been attending football clinics for 25 years to learn new things,'' said coach Richard White, Dianne's husband who has coached in high school. "They're improving. They get better every day.

"When the light bulb goes off, that is the most enjoyable part. It's not the wins and losses. It's the team unity that comes with it. They're learning basic football.''

Searcy started playing women's football in Atlanta 14 years ago, and her knowledge of the sport has improved markedly since then.

"I didn't know how much of the game I didn't know until I was coached,'' she said.

Said assistant Guy Lundy: "You can tell them just about anything, and they will do it. They don't know why they're doing it, but they're willing to change.''

Not much discourages the Anarchy, not the challenge of learning foreign concepts, not blowout losses, not injuries. They plan to keep practicing and burying their noses in playbooks, all in the pursuit of incremental improvement.

The Anarchy embrace the challenge and will be saddened when they no longer can play.

"I'm starting to get fearful that it's almost nearing the end, and I'm not going to function without football,'' said Snead, a eight-year veteran. "Kind of like those [NFL] players who retire.''

Said Sparks: "When I was going into high school, they told me I couldn't play anymore. There is a lot of that anger that comes out on the field.''